Where No Clan Has Gone Before
by ComputerSteve
Summary: If Ducan MacLeod lives forever, sooner or later he would end up here. If you enjoy this story, read the sequel, Metamorphosis.


"WHERE NO CLAN HAS GONE BEFORE"  
Part One  
by Steve Bellinger

Another dark alley. Seems like it's always a dark alley. Or a bridge. Duncan MacLeod squinted in the darkness, sword in hand, looking for any movement amongst the shadows. He did not have to wait long. A beast of a man, over 6 feet tall and well over 200 lbs, stepped out of the blackness.

"You are Duncan MacLeod?" he spoke in an accent not unlike MacLeod's

"Of the Clan MacLeod!"

"Then prepare to join your kinsmen!" The man drew a sword from somewhere behind his back.

Incredible, MacLeod thought. He is definitely bigger, and uglier than before.

"Don't waste my time, MacLeod! Save yourself a lot of pain and me a lot of trouble! Kneel before me and I will make the cut clean!"

"Not only are you big and ugly," MacLeod smirked, "you're an arrogant ass, too!"

"Have it your way!" the man charged, sword in the air.

MacLeod bolted forward. Blades clashed. Sparks flew. And MacLeod was thrown to the ground.

"I offer you one more chance at a merciful death, MacLeod!" He bellowed as he approached. "I promise minimal suffering."

MacLeod rolled to his feet, "Go to Hell!"

The man scowled as his voice sank to a sickening growl, "You first!"

MacLeod barely ducked the huge sword that seemed to grow in length as it was swung. The adversary was momentarily thrown off balance when he did not connect. MacLeod hit him low. With a loud grunt, the enemy's feet left the ground for a moment, but he regained his composure before MacLeod could turn for another attack.

The big man spun and charged again. Several times their blades connected, each time forcing MacLeod to take a step back. This will never do, he thought. This guy was quite strong, but he was also clumsy. He had to bait him. Using all his strength, Duncan came down sword to sword, literally beating the man back several steps. With each retreat, MacLeod could see the fury gather in the man's eyes as his own strength began to wane. By the seventh or eighth blow, the beast was angry beyond control. Which was just what MacLeod was hoping for.

With a roar, the giant pushed MacLeod away and lunged. He swung his heavy blade wildly. MacLeod ducked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—he could swear that the razor-edged blade had lopped off the tips of those hairs.

The beast lost his balance again, this time rolling onto his back. MacLeod lifted his sword and brought it down. His blow was blocked by the other's blade. MacLeod made contact again, and again. The adversary began show signs of fear as he found himself on the defensive. MacLeod's blows began to lose intensity and frequency, and he looked visibly fatigued. He paused as if to catch his breath. As he did this the beast rolled to his hands and knees to get up. MacLeod leapt to the man's side and sliced the air with his blade.

And took the beast's head. Winded, he watched as the head rolled across the sidewalk. This was a big one, he thought. He dropped his sword, closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for what should have been one hell of a quickening.

But nothing happened.

After a few seconds he looked around in disbelief. The headless man was still on the ground. Where was the lighting? Where was the thunder and explosions? Where was the quickening? He sighed and thought to himself, "This is too real!" He chuckled, "Computer," he said aloud, "reset program!"

The "immortal" he just killed vanished, head and all, along with MacLeod's sword. Not bad, but I could use a bit more of a challenge, he thought. "Computer! Run program MacLeod One."

The computer responded, "Specify level."

MacLeod smiled, "Level ten!"

"There are only eight levels in the program MacLeod One."

"Dammit," MacLeod said to himself. He then recalled something he heard someone say to a computer before that got some good results. "Computer! Extrapolate!"

The computer beeped and clicked. "Program MacLeod One extrapolated to Level Ten"

"Run program, level ten!"

MacLeod opened his right hand slightly as the holo-simulation of his sword appeared. "Amazing how much it feels like the real thing!" He turned toward the shadows where his adversary was programmed to appear. But this time, nothing. Damn, he thought, must have screwed up the program.

A bloodcurdling roar came from behind him.

MacLeod spun and was astonished to see the biggest, baddest, ugliest Klingon he had ever laid eyes on. This monster was almost 7 feet tall and must have weighed over 300 pounds, 300 pounds of pure muscle. The Klingon charged with his _batlh'eth_ in the air.

MacLeod ducked as he felt the wind from the Klingon's swing. The Klingon turned and screamed as he threw himself towards MacLeod again. "Got to learn how to turn down the volume on this thing next time," MacLeod muttered as he ducked again. This time, the Klingon caught the immortal's foot with his own, and MacLeod went sprawling. The charging Klingon reminded him of a steam locomotive, big and unstoppable. MacLeod had just enough time to get up on one knee and bring his sword up in defense.

"Die, immortal!" The Klingon bellowed as he brought the _batlh'eth_ down. The Klingon's weapon contacted MacLeod's sword—which shattered like glass.

Eyes wide in disbelief, MacLeod cried in pain as the _batlh'eth_ swiped his leg, leaving a deep, bloody gash. MacLeod collapsed to all fours, caught totally by surprise. Standing above him, the Klingon raised his weapon again. "Your head shall be mine, immortal!"

The _batlh'eth_ came crashing down, about to sever his head when MacLeod shouted, "Computer, freeze program!"

The Klingon halted suddenly, frozen as a statue, the razor sharp _batlh'eth_ inches from MacLeod's neck. Macleod got up, his wound already beginning to heal. He stared in wonderment, first at his shattered sword then at this monster of a Klingon.

"Computer, why a Klingon?"

"Extrapolation to level ten placed the adversary beyond normal human parameters."

"I'll be--" MacLeod smiled. "Tomorrow," he said to the unmoving beast. "A little rest and I'll kick your ass too!"

"Computer, end program"

With a faint hiss, it all vanished, the Klingon, the sword, the place. All that was left were yellow grid marks on black, featureless walls.

Moments later, MacLeod was scanning the crowd of people on the Promenade until he found the man he was looking for.

"Quark!"

The Ferengi looked up from the Dabo table and smiled. "Mr. MacLeod!" He walked over to the immortal, showing his uneven teeth in a big smile. "So, what did you think of our holosuite?"

"You promised me ten levels"

"Yes, I did--you completed eight levels already? You _are_ good! I mean, it takes time to create those simulations, and you didn't give me a lot to go by. I figured I'd write the last two levels before you were

"Relax," MacLeod smiled. "I finished the program myself. You actually did a very good job." He reached into his pocket and gave Quark several bars of latinum.

"Thank you!" the Ferengi beamed.

"I want to reserve it for tomorrow. Same time."

"I--I can't do that! I told you, there's going to be a couple of hundred people on the station tomorrow, and most of them will be looking for some entertainment!"

MacLeod dropped a few more bars of latinum in his hands.

Quark grinned with pointed teeth, "Tomorrow it is. Say, what happened to you?" he pointed to the bloody rip in MacLeod's pants.

"Oh, that," MacLeod grinned. "I got clumsy. It's not as bad as it looks. It will heal."

"You--you mean, you turned off the safety in the holosuite? You could have been killed!"

"Safety?"

"Part of the basic system. A fail safe that prevents the user from being harmed in any way." Quark frowned, "I would have sworn it was operating when I created the program!"

"Don't worry about it. Besides, I told you I wanted realism! Leave the safety turned off! So, tomorrow, same time!"

"As you wish." Quark's wide eyes followed MacLeod as he walked away. "But tomorrow, " he yelled to him, "tomorrow you pay in advance!"

WHERE NO CLAN HAS GONE BEFORE  
Part Two  
by Steve Bellinger

"There will be no trouble, Captain!"

"I certainly hope not, Constable," Benjamin Sisko sighed. "But, a hundred and fifty Klingons, and from rival families." He stroked his brow.

"Some sort of Klingon convention?"

"I'm afraid I'll never understand Klingon culture," Sisko groaned as he shook his head.

"I shall increase security on all levels. I have already enlisted additional personnel."

"Any Klingons among your security force?"

Odo managed something close to a smile. "I am afraid Mr. Worf is not willing to serve."

"Perhaps he knows something we don't?"

"He does not want to be forced to choose sides in the event of a dispute. I can't say that I blame him. I imagine his loyalties to the Federation, the Empire and the various families would pose something of a problem."

"He is," Sisko frowned, "first and foremost a Starfleet Officer!"

Odo bowed slightly, "Precisely, sir."

Sisko grinned. "Well, do the best you can, Constable, but I would advise against closing down Quark's"

"But, sir, if there is any trouble to be had; certainly that is where it will start!"

Sisko smiled broadly, "If there is no entertainment, trouble will be certain!"

"Perhaps you have a point."

"I'm glad we agree. Thank you, Constable!" Sisko turned away, hands behind his back, gazing through the window into space.

Odo walked stiffly out of the office and into Quark who was waiting anxiously outside.

"Well?" The Ferengi asked.

Odo sighed heavily, "It seems that your establishment will be allowed to remain open."

"Yes! Thank you!"

"Don't thank me, thank the Captain."

"Later, I got a shipment of Blood Wine and Gagh to get unloaded!"

MacLeod took a sip and gagged.

"You should never order anything here that you've never heard of!"

The immortal looked up. "I do like to try something new every now and then. After all," he smiled, "you only live once!"

"Really? Mind if I join you?"

"Please!" Duncan gestured to the empty chair across the table.

"I am Dr. Julian Bashir"

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor. Duncan MacLeod--"

"Of the Clan MacLeod, I know, and call me Julian, please."

MacLeod frowned. "Have we met?"

Bashir smiled broadly. "No, we haven't. I want to show you something." He took a small pen- shaped device from his pocket. "Ultraviolet," he explained as he switched it on. He pulled up the sleeve on his right arm and moved the device over the inside of his wrist, causing the otherwise hidden, circular tattoo to glow.

"You're a Watcher?"

"I have been most of my adult life, actually," Julian pulled his sleeve down and put the device away. "I heard what I thought was the legend of the immortals one day as a child and was fascinated by it all. I used to talk to people about it--I was a big fan! Then, one day, a friend of my father's took me aside and told me that it was all true, and, through him, I became a Watcher."

"You are my Watcher?"

"No, it doesn't quite work that way anymore," Julian began to explain but he broke off suddenly when Quark walked up.

"Doctor! Mr. MacLeod! How are you two today?"

"Fine, Quark," The Doctor said, trying to get rid of the Ferengi, "May I have what he's drinking?"

"Klingon Blood wine? Are you sure?"

"Never hurts to try something new," Julian grinned at MacLeod, "besides, you only live once."

"As you wish," Quark shrugged and walked away.

"You were saying about the Watchers," MacLeod probed.

"Well, as you probably know, there are not a whole lot of immortals left. I only know of about a dozen."

"There are a few more than that, I think, but, go on."

"With the advent of space travel over the last 200 years, they have scattered themselves across the galaxy. I understand that you have continued your trade as an antiques dealer, only you decided to not limit your market to Earth."

"I wanted to see the Universe."

"Of course," Bashir continued, "there are Watchers all around, many more Watchers than immortals. All we do now is keep track of you, which is not very difficult these days. Occasionally I'll get a subspace message saying that an immortal is passing this way, and all I need to do is check the station's sensor records to track that person and notify the next Watcher nearest the projected flight path.

"When you passed the Talos system a month ago, a Watcher at a nearby Starbase notified me that you may be coming this way," Bashir beamed, "I couldn't wait for the opportunity to meet you. You see, you are the first immortal I have ever seen in the flesh."

"Really?"

"All I have been doing is keeping up with and reporting flight paths and reported sightings. I must admit I find meeting you rather exciting."

Duncan sipped the Blood Wine, slowing getting used to and almost enjoying the pungent taste. "Then the Watchers are no longer a secret society?"

"Well, yes and no. We don't view immortals as a threat or as something evil. We also don't wish to intrude on your lives; you might say that the fascination has become more--academic."

Duncan put his drink down and smiled wryly. "We are--a hobby?"

"I would not put it that way, but, strictly speaking, yes. After all, that's how it was in the beginning."

Quark returned with a glass of dark red liquid. "Here you are, Doctor. I hope you enjoy it. And I also hope you remember that Quark's is not responsible for any physiological reactions you may have to any food or drink served here."

"I'll remember that."

"Oh, and Mr. MacLeod," the Ferengi addressed the immortal. "I have reserved the holosuite for you for this afternoon. I could only give you an hour. As you can see." Quark made a broad gesture, "we are very busy!"

MacLeod looked around. The place was very busy and noisy. "Thank you Quark."

"No problem!" the Ferengi smiled as he left.

"So, the Watchers no longer hide themselves from us?"

"Well, actually, I'm not supposed to be talking to you, but, like it said, this was too good to pass up."

"What other immortals have you tracked? Which ones are still around that you know about?"

"Now that," Bashir frowned, "is something that I am not allowed to divulge." He paused. "But I will tell you this, as a friend," he sighed. "There is one immortal that is still alive. Someone you were once close to. A very old man. His name is Methos."

"Methos!"

"Yes. Last seen on Earth about six months ago. Well, I won't trouble you any longer," Dr. Bashir stood. "It was a pleasure meeting you!"

"No, please don't go!"

The doctor smiled, "I've already said too much. Thank you for speaking with me."

Duncan stood and took the Doctor's hand, "You're not going to drink your wine?"

"That poison? Never! Good day, Mr. MacLeod, and, uh, be careful!"

Duncan sat down and sipped some more wine. Wasn't that bad. Then he recalled what Quark said about physiological effects, and for the first time wondered what was really in his glass and why it was called Blood Wine.

Meeting up with a Watcher after a couple of centuries made him a little melancholy. Over the many years, the friends he made, the people he had known and the women he had loved. Back in the late 20th Century he had made some very special friends, and seeing them grow old and die, as he had done with so many other friends and lovers--it was starting to get to him. How he missed them all.

MacLeod suddenly put the glass down. There it was! Something that he had not heard or felt in decades. The buzz! Another immortal! Somewhere on the Promenade! He stood and looked around, looking for a familiar face, or at least another startled one.

As the sensation got stronger, then weaker, then strong again, he scanned the room. He saw Odo and Dax, and he recognized Jake, the Captain's son, talking to a Dabo girl. He knew all of these people and never felt the buzz with them. There were a couple of Vulcans and several Bajorans. Over a hundred people were on the Promenade. One of them, he thought, must be an immortal.

And most of them were Klingons.

"WHERE NO CLAN HAS GONE BEFORE"  
Part Three  
By Steve Bellinger

Duncan was not ready. A holo-simulation was one thing. Meeting some real giant of a Klingon wielding a real razor-edged _batlh'eth_ was another. Just a little more practice, and little more of a workout, and he could deal with the inevitable confrontation.

He entered the holosuite. If he could beat this simulated Klingon he should be able to handle the real thing. Maybe he should turn the safety system back on. No need to take unnecessary chances.

"Computer, run program MacLeod One"

"Specify level."

"Level ten, and restore safety."

"You do not have sufficient access to execute that command."

"What?" MacLeod frowned as the holosuite grid melted into the familiar dark alley scene. It seemed darker and quieter than before. Nothing seemed to be happening.

"Computer, my sword!"

"You do not have sufficient access to execute that command"

"Quark, you little--you screwed up the program! Computer, end program!"

"You do not have sufficient access to execute that command."

"Just what the hell--" MacLeod saw movement in the shadows. That was all he needed. If the computer sent that monster at him while he was unarmed-- then, it happened again. Weak at first, then strong. The buzz. How can that be? Is the holosuite capable of simulating that too? "Computer! End program, now!"

"The computer cannot honor your request." A calm voice came from the darkness.

"And why not?"

"Because I have modified the program," out of the darkness walked a dark-skinned man of medium build, with very short hair, a flat expression--and pointed ears.

"You are a Vulcan?" Duncan asked.

"I am Tuvoc. I am a Vulcan."

"But you are Black!"

Tuvoc raised an eyebrow. "I have never understood the human propensity for using metaphors to describe genetic adaptations. Earth is not the only planet where evolution is partially driven by climate variations."

"Right." MacLeod eyes widened. "And you are an immortal?"

"That is correct."

"I often wondered if there were alien immortals!"

"Alien is a relative term," Tuvoc said flatly. "Here, we are both aliens."

"You modified the computer program! Why?"

"I wanted to observe in what you would believe to be a true life and death struggle but I did not want you killed. The safety subsystem was modified to allow minor injury only. After all, you would heal."

"Yes, we heal, but it still hurts like the devil!"

"I regret any pain you experienced. That was not my intention."

"I see," MacLeod gazed at the Vulcan suspiciously. "Just how old are you?"

"Not as old as you. Actually I am still within the normal lifespan of a Vulcan, just under 200 of your years. I discovered my immortality when I was killed in a vehicular accident on my home world and awoke a short time later. My death happened in a public place, seen by many people. My parents, concerned with how others would react, sent me away."

MacLeod smiled bitterly. He was able to identify somewhat with Tuvoc's plight. He suddenly felt a sort of kinship with him. At the same time, he wondered about his motives.

"For a long time," the Vulcan continued," I hid my identity by posing as a human. I had my ears surgically altered. Unfortunately, being an immortal, the points would always eventually grow back. Now, I find that if I just keep on the move and avoid staying in one place for too long, I don't have to maintain a charade."

MacLeod was getting uneasy. There had to be more to all of this. "So, what now?"

"I modified your program because I wanted to observe your fighting skills. You see, there is talk again of a 'Gathering.' I needed to learn more about who and what I am. Because, it is logical that there can be only one."

"You are not going to fight an unarmed man!"

"Computer! Accept voice lock key and execute next command only!" Tuvoc's voice softened, "You may request your sword, now."

MacLeod's eye never left those of the Vulcan as he spoke to the machine, "Computer, my sword!" He opened his hand slightly and his weapon appeared.

"Computer," Tuvoc said flatly, "element 4436W." A shiny, slightly gold-colored sword appeared in his hand.

"Element 4436W?" MacLeod grinned.

"I had several choices."

MacLeod raised his blade and began to circle. Tuvoc did the same, a second later. MacLeod noticed that the Vulcan seemed to be mimicking his actions. The human lunged forward and swung. Tuvoc brought his sword up just in time to block. MacLeod stuck again and again as the Vulcan began to gain confidence.

"You've never done this before!" MacLeod said as he pushed him away.

"Only in holo-simulations," Tuvoc admitted. "But like most Vulcans, I learn quickly."

With that, the Vulcan went on the attack, his lack of skill more than made up for by his strength. Again, MacLeod found himself on the defensive, being pounded back with each blow. He jumped up onto some trash cans, and just as Tuvoc swung again, MacLeod leaped, somersaulted in the air and landed behind him. As the Vulcan turned, Duncan thrust his blade into Tuvoc's midsection, the tip ripping through flesh and bone, finally protruding an inch out of his back.

"Hurts like hell, doesn't it?"

Tuvoc's eyes and mouth were agape in shock. He winced in pain as MacLeod pulled the sword out. The Vulcan dropped his weapon and gazed at MacLeod in astonishment.

"Like you said, it is only logical. There can be only one." He lifted his blade to shoulder level, and in one swift, clean blow, sliced the air. When the edge contacted Tuvoc's neck, it dematerialized for a second, and became solid again after passing through.

"Now you know what its like," MacLeod smiled. Tuvoc doubled over and fell to his knees. "Wait a minute, are you alright? You should be starting to heal by now. It never took me this long!"

"I am not like you," Tuvoc choked. "Vulcans live three to four times longer than humans. Our metabolism is different. The healing takes longer."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I am beginning to recover," Tuvoc said, the strength beginning to return to his voice. "As you can see, I have much to learn."

"And I will teach you." MacLeod smiled.

Tuvoc's eyebrow shot up. "Teach me? But that is illogical. If there can be only one, then there is a possibility that we may have to fight again."

"I didn't say I'd teach you everything!" MacLeod said as he helped the Vulcan to his feet. "How are you doing, now?"

"There is still pain, but I shall ignore it. Soon it will be gone"

"There is something that you can do for me." The human immortal said as he steadied the Vulcan immortal.

"And that is?"

"Restore my program! I want to beat that holographic Klingon!"

"I am afraid that may not be possible." Tuvoc was now standing on his own, a bloody slit in his shirt the only thing left of the attack.

"You can't restore the program? You were the one who changed it!"

"No, I mean, you can never beat the Klingon in that program."

"Why?"

Tuvoc's face lost what little expression it had as he spoke. "You told the computer to 'extrapolate.' To a computer, extrapolation is not just a command, it is a process. The program will do whatever it needs to beat you. It will make the adversary stronger, it will make your sword fail, it will create a second adversary—"

"You mean it will cheat." MacLeod sounded a little disgusted. "I expected more than that from a machine."

"You gave it the command."

"Yeah, without knowing what it meant. So I have to rewrite the program?"

"That is one solution, but because of all of the details and nuances it developed in response to you, any new program will not be the same. The only way to get the satisfaction you desire is to beat this program."

"But you just said that was impossible."

"Computer," Tuvoc spoke loudly, "accept voiceprint key , end program and delete voiceprint lock." There was a delay of about a second as the computer internally confirmed the owner of the voice. Then, with a faint hiss, the dark alley faded and became the yellow-gridded, black walls of the holodeck. "It is impossible to beat the program as it is, but it is possible to work around the extrapolation process. The programming panel is just outside the door, I will set it up for you."

"I take back all the bad things I said about Vulcans," MacLeod laughed.

"No need. Vulcans cannot be insulted."

MacLeod chuckled, "It was only a joke, Tuvoc."

"Vulcans do not make jokes, nor can we appreciate them."

"Sorry. So how is it that you know how to bypass this extrapolation thing?"

"A few decades ago, while I was masquerading as a human, I served in Starfleet, on the USS Enterprise B, to be exact. There I met perhaps the most famous starship captain who ever lived. He earned his commission by figuring out a way to get around computer extrapolation. It seems he was taking a test as a cadet in the academy and won the admiration of all when he beat what was supposed to be an unbeatable scenario.

"A computer simulation using the extrapolation process?"

"Correct. The test was called the _Kobayashi Maru_ scenario. I will explain it to you while we modify your program..."


End file.
